


Four Times Trish Walker and Jessica Jones were not on a date. (And the one time they maybe kinda were)

by carmillalives (wvrlyearp)



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Pining, an unreasonable amount of pining, look at these gay nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:43:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5332904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wvrlyearp/pseuds/carmillalives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pining babies refuse to admit they're in love over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Trish Walker and Jessica Jones were not on a date. (And the one time they maybe kinda were)

“Where are you taking me?” Trish groans as you coax her up the hill, dragging her feet and making it just that much harder for you to do something nice. You roll your eyes.

“You’ll see.” It’s really not that much farther. And if she could just pick up the pace a little, you could be there in a minute. You’re about to tell her as much when you remember that this is you trying to do something nice for your best friend, so you keep your mouth shut as you walk over the crest of the hill.

“Ta-da!” You smile at the smile on Trish’s face when she sees the picnic blanket you’ve set up. The stars are breathtakingly beautiful that night, but not nearly as beautiful as she is. As she rifles through the picnic basket, making contented noises, you carefully sit down next to her. You let her chatter incessantly for a few minutes while you make your way through a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, the one thing you can actually make without managing to mess it up. When she excitedly grabs at your hand and holds it in her own as she goes on some tirade, you don’t think twice of it. She’s your best friend. This is what best friends do. When she finally stops talking, you glance away.

“So, you like it?” You ask sheepishly, hoping you’ve managed to do something right. Trish chuckles next to you.

“Of course I like it. This moonlight date idea isn’t half bad.” She responds, knocking her shoulder against yours. You blush and shake your head.

“It’s not a date.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You can’t believe you’d actually agreed to come to this stupid function. Everywhere around you there’s cameras flashing and people dressed up all fancy and drinking champagne and eating hors d'oeuvres off of the crispest paper napkins you’ve ever seen. You hate these kinds of events, loathe them even.

But every time Trish gives you puppy dog eyes and begs you to go with her, you say yes. The sacrifices you make for friendship.

The thing that really makes these events awful are the men. The men, who stare at Trish and strike up conversations with her that she obviously doesn’t want to have. You sigh as she brushes off yet another would-be suitor, excusing herself with a 500-watt smile before turning to you and grimacing, adding the comment that she

“Needs another drink, ASAP.” You agree wholeheartedly and she links her arm through yours and starts to attempt to maneuver the two of you through the crowd.  You make it approximately three and a half steps before somebody stops her with a hand to the shoulder and you’re forced to mingle again. You stare at your shoes as she makes small-talk with some older woman, holding back the urge to yawn. You’re drawn out of your haze when suddenly you’re being mentioned in the conversation.

“So who’s your date tonight?” The woman asks jovially, giving you a smile that seems entirely too bright and white to be a real thing. You’re about to open your mouth to say something when Trish’s tinkling laugh cuts you off.

“Oh, she’s not a date. This is my best friend Jessica.”

She continues to talk about something, maybe it’s you, probably it’s something related to this event you’re at, and you try not to feel hurt at the fact that she laughed at the idea of you as a date.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s kind of hard to go out to a quiet dinner when your best friend is super famous and, but you try nonetheless. The two of you are holed up in some tiny Italian place you found online, seated in the back in the hope that no rogue Patsy Walker fans will see you and demand an autograph or a photo, which you usually have to take for them.

It’s a cute place with breadsticks and little candles on the table, and your evening has passed without incident so far. Trish happily devours her meal across from you, pausing every few seconds to continue recounting some shenanigans that had arisen in her day. You’re glaring forlornly down at your own already-empty plate when she suddenly shoves her fork in your face.

“Want some?” You shrug and open your mouth, taking a bite of the pasta which she’s waving in front of your nose.

“Good right?” She smiles, and you nod as you chew and swallow.

“Thanks.” You reply, reminding yourself again that this is not, under any circumstances, a date. It’s not a date when the two of you split dessert, it’s not a date when you let her cover the bill, and it’s not a date when she shivers on the walk home and you let her take your jacket.

Right?

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Except sometimes, it totally feels like you’re dating. Everything is always so domestic when you’re with her, and the two of you often joke about being a married couple. She’s your best friend, you remind yourself. That’s all.

And it’s totally okay if you want to order take-out for your stressed best friend and drink fancy wine with cheap Chinese food. The wine, of course, is hers, but you think that it’s the thought of you setting everything up that counts. When she walks in the door to the apartment, frazzled you’re sitting at the table waiting for her, and the look on her face is priceless. All you ever want to do is make her happy, and if buying her food and listening to her rant is the way that you can do that, you’re more than happy to do it. You’d be more than happy to do it for like, the rest of your life.

Because she’s your best friend.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You realize it the second it comes out of your mouth on those docks. You do love her. You’ve loved her for a ridiculously long time, probably, but you’ve been too afraid to let yourself admit it. The thought of it rests in the back of your mind as you sheepishly accept her invitation to move back into the apartment which she insists is still yours. (Just until yours can get fixed up, you assure yourself. Nothing permanent.) Things aren’t perfect for you. You still have nightmares and your hands shake when you think about how it felt to snap Kilgrave’s neck and you can’t look in the mirror without thinking that you look like a ghost of who you once were. But she’s there for you.

Just like she’s always been there for you. And you love her, so… so what if you want to take her on a date? If it all goes south, you can just say that it was a “thanks for all your help and for nearly dying for me” and deny, just like you have a hundred times, that it was a date.

You decide to surprise her at her studio after her show, slumping yourself against the wall outside her recording booth and feeling your heart race when she gives you a little wave as she finishes up her interview, sliding the headphones off of her head. As she walks out of the booth, she gives you a somewhat inquisitive look.

“Please tell me there’s no crisis.” She exhales, coming to stand in front of you. You shake your head.

“No crisis.” She smiles and lets out a breathy

“Thank God.” before laughing softly. “So what are you doing here then?”

You freeze up, suddenly finding interest in the carpet. “I wanted to take you out?” And it sounds much more like a question than the statement you had wanted it to be but Trish smiles anyway and you feel a weight get lifted off of your shoulders.

“Like a date?” She asks, a pronounced smirk gracing her unfairly lovely features.

“Only if you want it to be.” You reply, feeling as though your heart might beat out of your chest. Because damn, you may be able to lift an entire car, but Trish Walker makes you crumble.

“I would.” She replies, taking your hand and leading you out the door.

And for the first time in your life, you take Trish Walker out on a date.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @ karnsteinn on tumblr please come shout about these nerds with me


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